Madness and Electricity
by prettybirdy979
Summary: He may be mad... but he's also smart. And Sherlock and John are hunting him...


**Disclaimer: I own this as much as I own a laptop at the moment... which means I don't own =(**

**Author's Note: Yeah, I didn't I was going to get this up after my laptop died, but I got lucky and the files were able to be recovered. Enjoy! =D**

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Their latest case came from Mycroft. A highly respected, incredibly intelligent scientist, Thomas Saracan had (_as John put it) _'gone nuts' and begun to perform his experiments on anything and anyone regardless of the consequences. While Scotland Yard was investigating the crimes no one had pieced the cases together and Mycroft wanted it to stay that way.

So he had asked Sherlock to help.

This was why John was standing in the middle of a room _(which reminded him in an alarming way of 221B Baker St_) at five o'clock in the morning while Sherlock flitted around the space, examining experiments and generally looking like he was in heaven. Every so often he would give a cry of delight at an experiment, then look back at John almost as if he was calculating if John would let him run his own version of it. He always turned back with a pout on his face at his deductions.

'Are we done here?' John asked after half an hour of standing around (_and two hours of actively waking up)_.

'Hmm? Oh yes.'

'And?'

'And what?'

'What do you know? Where is this guy?'

'Oh surely you could deduce that.' At John's bemused look, Sherlock continued, 'He's at his lab.'

'Isn't this his lab?'

'Of course not. It's nowhere near sterile enough for his experiments and there isn't much of his work actually here. Most of these are old experiments, a few years old if I'm not mistaken. This 'lab' is a cover, a place to show his bosses and friends…no _colleagues_ what he's doing, without risking someone else sabotaging or stealing his work.'

'So…where is his real lab?'

'Somewhere in the country, judging by his boots. Probably somewhere secluded, surrounded by farms with a dirt road leading in and out of the property.'

'How could you possibly know that?'

Sherlock sighed. 'The country is easy, there's dried mud on the boots over there. None of it comes from London and besides, those aren't boots you would wear in London, they're not practical and this man is practical. So he often goes somewhere where they are practical. Saracan is experimenting so he's going to want space where he can't be disturbed. So a secluded area surrounded by farms.'

'And the dirt road? I doubt his shoes could have told you that.'

'You're right. The car in the driveway did.'

'Sherlock…what car in the driveway?'

'You don't observe, do you?' He dragged John over to the window. 'That car, see how it has nicks in the paint? Shows it drives down a dirt road often where small rocks are able to fly up and hit it.'

He turned to John smiling and was a little put off when he saw John frowning.

'Sherlock? We came in the back way, right?'

'Yes.' Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Did you look out the window when we came in here?'

'Course I did.'

'When did that car get here?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, then stopped when he realised the car hadn't been there the entire time as the ground under it was wet, which it wouldn't be as it had been raining the entire time they were there.

'Sherlock, he's here!' John's hand went to where his gun normally was, forgetting he was too sleepy this morning to grab it. Sherlock tried to figure out why John was panicking, after all this guy wasn't as smart as Moriarty…but it was close.

'Sherlock, we have to search the house again.'

'Quite right. You search the top floor and I'll search the bottom one.' He said.

'But we don't have a' Sherlock pulled John's out of the back of his pants. 'Oh. Thanks.'

As John searched the top floor for their scientist, he felt himself falling back into his military persona. Every step reminded him of a dozen he took back in Afghanistan, and he fought to keep the memories at bay. Quickly, he cleared the rooms, realising that there wasn't anyone up here.

The car outside suddenly started and he raced to the window. There he saw a man he recognised as Thomas Saracan in the driver's seat. Their eyes met for a moment, then John pulled away from the window and dashed down the stairs and out the door.

By the time he reached the driveway the car was gone, but beside where it had been was Sherlock's scarf. John picked it up and wasn't surprised to see the water dripping off it was tinged red.

Sherlock was dimly aware of someone speaking. However who it was, and what they were saying were impossible to determine over the throbbing pain in his head. He also was aware that opening his eyes would help him to figure out who it was, but an experimental try of that had him hissing in pain at the _brightness_ of the light and made him determined to keep his eyes shut.

"... awake, are we?" The words were spoken right next to his ear, and Sherlock groaned as they rang through his head 'You've taken an awfully long time to wake up… I was getting worried. I seem to have underestimated my strength. I just guess I'll have to experiment a little more with it.'

Sherlock felt something heavy settle on his head for a moment, then the weight disappeared followed by a sudden gust of wind as the object was throw and it hit the…floor (_bed, wall…flat surface, Sherlock wasn't sure)_ behind him. He couldn't help but flinch and his eyes opened, and he found himself looking into the eyes of Thomas Saracan. It was then he finally figured out he was lying on his back, tied to a table.

'Don't worry. That experiment will be saved for someone with far less intelligence then yourself. No, no, no. I have something very special planned for you, the great detective. I wonder, how good will you be if I cut your eyes out?' He pulled a knife, seemingly from nowhere and _**hovered**_ it over Sherlock's eyes. 'Or, perhaps I should start with your hearing first?'

'Wr…o…ng.' Sherlock quickly tested if he could move his arms, and immediately figured out that he was tied up. The surface he was restrained against was cold and flat, meaning it was most likely a metal table. And the electrical equipment and monitoring devices he could see out of the corner of his right eye gave him what John would have called 'a bad feeling'.

'Excuse me?'

'You're…wrong. That… isn't…an…experiment.'

Thomas smiled. 'Of course it isn't. But my study of your reaction to my threats was. You didn't flinch, even though I threatened the very thing that you use the most. Meaning, you knew I was bluffing. You are as clever as I've been told.'

He stepped away from the table, taking him out of Sherlock's range of sight. Sherlock immediately closed his eyes, and tried to recall the series of events that had lead up to this.

_Sherlock was in the kitchen, knife in hand (because, unlike John thought, he did have a tiny bit of self-preservation) trying to deduce the scientist was hiding. This man was smart and he was enjoying the challenge._

_He hadn't expected the gun nozzle that suddenly dug into his head from behind._

'_I wouldn't move if I was you.' Sherlock stiffened. 'Don't move!' the man whispered. 'Now, drop it.'_

_Sherlock opened his hand and the knife there dropped to the ground._

'_So, where's your little pet?'_

_It took a second to realise who Thomas was talking about. A chill swept though him and his mind whirled thinking of a lie. 'Sent him away. He was boring me, with all his talk of it being too early to be awake.'_

'_Shame. It would have been fun to have two subjects for experimentation. Oh, well. You'll just have to do.'_

_The gun moved away from his head, and then it exploded with pain._

'You lied to me.' Thomas spoke suddenly from somewhere to the right of Sherlock.

'I…did?'

'Yup. You said that you sent your little pet away. You lied. I saw him in the upstairs window as we left. I would have gone back to get him, but…'

'But?'

Thomas leaned over Sherlock, right in his face. 'I thought it would be more fun to let my own pets deal with him.' He smiled, sending a shiver down Sherlock's spine.

'Curious, you don't have a fear response when I threaten you. But your little pet…well, it's surprising that something so stupid gets such a response. Perhaps I need further experimentation?'

He moved out of sight again, but returned quickly with what looked to be electrical cords. Sherlock wasn't sure, everything was going blurry and he felt himself getting confused again.

'Oh, no fair! You're going to pass out again. That's cheating, my friend. And I don't like cheating.'

Sherlock dimly felt something be connected to his skin. It hurt, but dimly like when you put alligator clips on your hand. In fact, Sherlock realised, they are alligator clips. Then every cell in his body seemed to protest as they felt like they were set on fire. He felt himself lift up off the table and registered that someone was screaming.

As suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped and Sherlock realised that it had been him screaming. He opened his eyes _(when had he closed them?) _and looked above him at Thomas.

'I told you, I don't like cheating.'

'We're…not…playing…a…game.' Sherlock heard how weak his voice was and hated it.

'My dear detective, everything is a game. And every game is an experiment. Now, I wonder how long your heart could take this before it gives out. I've never worked with electricity before:- it's going to be an interesting experiment. Think of it, I could prove all those fools wrong. They are idiots who don't know anything, after all.'

Sherlock didn't get a chance to reply before the pain ripped though him again. This time, however, it didn't stop. It just kept going on and on and Sherlock began to wonder if this was death.

Even as he began to think that, he felt the pain disappearing. After a few seconds, it was gone completely, leaving only the memory of it behind.

Happily, he let the darkness consume him.

He was slightly surprised when the darkness begins to withdraw from his senses and his mind starts to become aware of his surroundings. _I was so certain I was dead…A missed opportunity._

'Don't you even dare think about it.' The voice answering his thoughts is a surprise and Sherlock finds his eyes opening, if only to find out whom the voice belongs to.

He is surprised (_again…he really must be out of it. He hasn't surprised this much since he was twelve)_ to see that John is the one sitting by his bed and answering his thoughts.

'How…?'

'You spoke aloud. You are not going to get yourself killed just to find out what it's like.'

Sherlock just softly smiled and sunk back down into the hospital bed. John rolled his eyes, and shuffled in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. The movement of his arms caught Sherlock's attention and he noticed the cast on the left arm. Quickly, he ran his eyes over John's body and noticed that while he was wearing his own clothes, there was a hint of a bandage under his collar, scrapes on his hands and face and he had his cane resting by his chair.

'What happened?'

'Can't you deduce it?' John teased, but seeing the frustrated look on Sherlock's face he explained. 'Our friendly mad scientist left a few surprises back at his place. It was lucky that you brought my gun. I doubt I would have been able to get out of there without it. Or get into the second place.'

'Yes. Well, how did you find me?'

'Now, why would I tell you that? It would ruin the mystery.'

Sherlock paused for a moment, examined John's face and smiled. 'Phone in my pocket.'

'Of course. That guy may have been a genius but he lacked a lot in common sense.'

Sherlock lay back in his bed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he saw the fond smile on John's face.

'I'm bored.'


End file.
